


I Don't F*ckin Care

by huntthewicked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Dean, Canon Dialogue, Cheating Sam, Dean drinks a lot, F/M, Hurt Dean, Inspired by a YouTube video, Little to no happiness, M/M, Sam Lies, Sex, Smut, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8010988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntthewicked/pseuds/huntthewicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Sam is cheating on Dean and Dean is too weak to break-up with him.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ever wondered why Dean's always written as the cheater? Me too, could not find any Sam cheating fics. Maybe I just didn't look hard enough. 
> 
> Inspired by this incredible fanvid-- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F957ElmRwMI  
> I basically copied the video in fanfic form, is that illegal? Let's not find out... Watch it if you want your heart to break.

Dean stares at the bottle and it stares back at him. Why has he been fighting this for so long?

Flashback to that night on the bridge, slamming Sam up against the metal with the sound of the river rushing beneath them. He remembers how it felt to be pressed up against his little brother, how it felt so goddamn right and there wasn't an ounce of doubt in his body.

Sam had bucked against his thigh and breathed out "Dean" like it was his last breath.

His eyes are unmoving where they rest on the amber liquid, the void of alcohol bringing back that first kiss.

The buzz of the hunt pounding through their bodies, so nervous to be around each other for the first time in forever and their faces gravitating towards each other. So close they're breathing the same air, so close their body heat radiates and there isn't a single reason why they shouldn't do this.

Dean takes the leap and licks his own lips, ducks in and closes the gap so they're touching. Kissing.

He remembers the sigh Sam gave, an exhale because he wants this too.

At least Dean thought he wanted it too. Suddenly he's aware of the grip his has on the table, the wooden corner cutting into the palm of his hand and leaving an imprint.

He lets go and his gaze falls from the bottle to his hand. Dean flinches at the mark it's left but his eyes still ache from exhaustion and his mouth is still dry from the need to drink.

He turns his hand so he's now staring at the back of it, mouth open slightly and he wishes this was different.

He wishes it was Sammy in his hands and he was leaving bruises over his body, holding onto his arms and his hips and his neck and everywhere just marking him.

But his reflection in the mirror doesn't look anything like the man Sam fell in love with. Do soulmates really call it love when it doesn't even begin to describe how complete you feel around the other person and how you would die every single day if it kept them safe.

The door to the motel room swings open and Sam walks in, smile on his face.

He's been out all night and now he's slurring his words, "Up late."

"Yeah," Dean bites his bottom lip to stop the words threatening to escape. He has to act like he doesn't care.

"C'mere," Sam grins lazily and Dean lets himself be pulled into Sam's embrace, a strong hug that surrounds his shoulders.

He buries himself into Sam's neck and breathes deeply, tries to get a grip. Because he can smell coconut cloying on Sam's skin and there's a red mark peeking out from the corner of his shirt and he knows exactly where Sam's been all night but he won't say it.

Can't.

"Bed," Sam murmurs low in his ear and he's pushing away, in the bathroom taking a shower.

When he emerges in a cloud of steam, white towel hanging low on his hips and dark hair sticking to his cheeks in curls Dean sits up from leaning on the headboard.

He unconsciously licks his lips, tells himself he doesn't care what Sam's been doing in the dead of night because no girl will see him like this.

And he wants Sam to tell him he loves him so he can convince himself that he doesn't fucking care.

Sam drops his towel and Dean knows he will never be able to say no to this.

"Need you," He mutters, leaning into Dean's body heat and he kisses him. Needing someone can be as good as loving them. He doesn't need the girls like he needs Dean. That's the only reason he doesn't say anything. That and he's so fucking scared because Sam's too good for him anyway.

They're making out, Sam roughly taking Dean's clothes off. But he's distracted, Sam's mouth tastes like cranberry vodka which Sam would never touch because no matter how long his hair is, he isn't actually a girl. So he breaks the kiss and turns on his stomach so when Sam fucks into him he won't have to see his face.

"Fuck, hurry up," Dean growls when Sam lowers his hands to Dean ass and bends his crooked finger into Dean.Apart from grunting and moaning they fuck without any noise. Dean urges Sam on with the buck of his hips and each thrust Sam inflicts it gets rougher. Dean won't break like the girls will, he is what they will never be.

Sam finishes first, coming in Dean hard and resting his head on Dean's back, hair dripping.

Dean bites into the pillow and hates himself for letting Sam touch him.

When Sam tries to pull him into his chest so they're spooning like they usually do, Dean flinches away and grabs the bottle from the table. He finds himself sitting on the closed toilet seat with the bottle propped up on the pile of used towels.  
Out of the corner of his eye he can see the hand towel, a smudge of red on one of the folds and he takes another gulp of whiskey.

Her lipstick. He wonders what she looks like, if she has blonde hair or brown. If she was the first to make a move or whether it was all Sam.

There's a churning in his stomach and he thinks maybe it's better that he doesn't know.

 

He waits until Sam drifts off to sleep and then sleeps in the queen size bed opposite him. For some reason they keep getting two queens instead of one even though they usually share. 

Dean acts like it's the smartest option, in case one gets too damaged after sex or in case they need the space to clean guns. Really it's so they aren't admitting to the world that they're sleeping together, getting rid of the intimacy and asking at reception for two like they aren't actually one.

The day drags, Sam laughing at messages on his phone every five minutes and Dean trying not to break something. They figure out the creature this week must be a shifter, to explain the confused suspects that all have solid alibis and no homicidal personality traits.

It's 11pm and Dean's about to suggest they drink a couple beers and flick through the channels but Sam's taking one look at his phone and claiming he has somewhere else to be.

"Where?" Dean's eyebrow twitches, a tell tale sign of anger, and he uncaps one of the bottles with his ring. Sam tracks the movement and smiles, for as long as he can remember Dean opened beer like that.  
"Some lead, think I might be able to talk to some witnesses" Sam says it with such fake conviction that Dean knows it's a lie. He knows he's going to come back with someone else's sweat on him and pretend it's not there. 

He curls his mouth around the bottle and tilts his head back, relaxing as the alcohol enters his system.

"Sure" He nods, making no effort to hide the irritation.

"I'd ask you to come with but it's late and you've been driving around all day" Sam grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugs it on, ducking his head out the door before Dean can object.  
"Deja fucking vu"

Dean doesn't even try to sleep, he downs the six pack while sitting on the bed, resting his back on the headboard while a sitcom blares out canned laughter at barely laughable moments.

Sam's back just as Dean's about to give up and try sleeping.

He looks shocked, slightly annoyed but happy; who isn't after getting laid?

"Don't have to wait up for me Dean" Sam chuckles, removes his jacket and phone and shoes. He's heading for the shower. Dean knows the routine by now. 

Step one, make excuses about needing to head out. Step two, leave and go fuck some girl in her floral apartment. Step three, come back stinking of sex and have a shower. Four, fuck your brother and pass out to the sounds of cars on the other side of the window.

He could write a fucking book about the routine.

"Just where were you Sammy?" he's bitter, he wants Sam to look him in the face and tell him pretty lies so he doesn't have to care for a bit longer. Sam stops halfway to the bathroom and halfway to the exit.  
"Oh some girl wanted me to help her out with a broken down car near this bar. I told her you should see my brother, he's the real mechanic," Sam grins like that sentence made everything alright "But it was just low gas so I siphoned some out of the Impala, you don't mind right?" those fucking dimples appear and Dean physically feels himself go weak at the knees, it's like Sam knows just how to play his brother. Which he does because it's been 30 years.

"Oh right. Gotta help a damsel in distress," Dean bites and gets to his feet, lurches forward because maybe he has had too much to drink but it's not going to calm him down.

"Right,," Sam frowns, looks like he doesn't understand why his brother is so angry."Nothing else then?" He's not so drunk that he forgot Sam's alibi was a lead. Doesn't mention it though, doesn't want Sam to leave him.

"No. Like I said, her car broke down," Sam's eyes are narrowing, he's shifting on his feet like he does when he's nervous.  
"So there's a her now? Jesus, you can't even tell me the fucking truth? If that's how it's gonna be then why even speak at all right? Would be so much easier if I was just a prop to you wouldn't it, if I existed just for getting you off and shooting a gun" close up in his personal space, Dean stares into Sam's hazel eyes.

"No, Dean.. Christ, you're hammered" Sam tries to touch his shoulder, always with the physical contact.

"You're damn fucking right I am, the hell am I suppose to do when I don't know what you're off doing?"

"I told you Dean. It was just a broken car. Would you prefer it if I didn't help people in need?" Sam lowers his voice and searches Dean's eyes pleading with him to just relax. "Thought you raised me better then that." 

"Don't you pull that one on me," Dean swears but it falls flat. He sounds destroyed and his voice is husky from the drink so when Sam tries to touch him again he lets him. Dean can feel the tears gathering in his eyes and he can't breathe from the pain constricting his heart. 

"Not pulling anything," Sam mutters into Dean's neck and he kisses the warm skin there.

They fall asleep while the muted tv changes programme to a serial cop drama.

Dean dreams of the first time, how Sam looked so afraid to be loved this much. To love this much. Dean's mind shows him flashes of Sam kissing him, Sam telling him that he's perfect, telling him he never wants to leave him ever again.

You can't smell in dreams but he knows he doesn't smell of lavender or rosewater; sickly sweet.

Sam moves ethereally, mouth stretching into a smile and his dimples glowing. His hazel eyes are darker, pulling Dean deeper, a whirlpool of never ending tar.

But the scene is changing, it's not a romance it's a tragedy. Blonde hair, sexy nurses outfit that accompanies Halloween frat parties. She's sliding her arms around Sam, red lipstick staining her mouth which finds Sam's and Sam turns away from Dean to her.

Dean jerks awake, sweat beading on his skin and he looks at Sam beside him. He's sleeping face down, pillow bunched up with his right hand and the other is lying on Dean's thigh.

His back arches as he flips so he's lying on his back, removing the hand from behind the pillow to fall just short of Dean's leg. Unconsciously he groans and settles deeper into the sheets.

He has to close his eyes to not feel physically sick from the events of the dream.

 

It's a whole new state, they're taking some time out to heal and catch up on hunts from Bobby's end.

Throughout this entire process they stayed indoors, best way to lay low. But for once Sam's the one getting restless, pacing the room and thumbing at his phone.

They haven't met anyone so Dean can't explain his behaviour.

Until Sam's burrowing down to the bottom of his underwear draw, where the condoms usually are and talking about getting some air. He always unpacks his bag into every motel room and Dean thinks it's a nesting thing because he knows the smart thing to do is always keep the bags packed no matter how many creases the clothes get.

He tries to sneak the pack into his black hoodie discreetly but seen as Dean's perched on the edge of the bed it's virtually impossible. It's the same black hoodie that Roy Le Grange cured him in when he was electrocuted.

"Not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot," And Sam had smirked behind his floppy hair, manhandled him until he was wrapped in Sam's jumper and cosy from the hot chocolate in his hands.  
"Not a kid," He'd complained but when Sam's back was turned he'd held onto the drink tighter and curved into the hoodie a little more.

That was back when they _tried_ to tell the truth. Now the things left unsaid linger on Dean's mind and the only thing that will mute the noise is the bottom of the bottle.

He's rehearsing what he wants to say in his head. How he wants to punch Sam for all he's worth and how he wants to turn back time before Sam ever started running off alone. 

"So do me a favour. You can keep all your little secrets and I can't really stop you, but just don't treat me like an idiot. Okay," There's venom pumping through his veins. He purses his lips in agitation and waits for Sam to tell him it's going to be okay when it's not.

"What? Dean I'm not keeping secrets,"

"Uh huh."

"Whatever," He turns his back on Sam and pulls the Bourbon out from under the bed. He could never leave Sam because of his own selfish need. He needs his brother like he needs the drink, it's unhealthy and dangerous and it feels too good to give up.

And at the end of it all he knows Sam's right by his side. So he can sleep with whomever he wants, he can take those condoms Dean bought and fuck any girl he kisses but it will always be Dean that he wants to spend his forever with.

They're soulmates for fucks sake.

Surely it's inevitable.

 

Sam stands by the table Dean's currently reading through a the book of woodcraft and lore, honestly it's boring as fuck but it's the first book he grabbed from their big pile and maybe it'd be useful someday. If they were ever fighting a tree ent style; Treebeard could be a legit spell in the cramped pages. 

"Why aren't you going," Masochism is feeling gratified by your own pain and humiliation. Metaphorically masochism and Dean go hand in hand.

"Dean what's up with you?" Sam's hoisting the bag higher on his shoulder.

A poorly built bridge can only take so much pressure before it collapses. 

"Nothing" He loiters by the table for a second longer, grabs a random piece of paper from the mess, taps it on the table as an unofficial way of saying 'Imma use this now to do something out of this room' and then leaves.

Dean bats the book away, curses from the impact of a hardback cover and leans into the curve of the chair, reaching into his leathers pocket for the hip flask and pulls it out without even needing to look.  
The metal's cold against his lips, so used to the warm round glass a bottle provides.

It's always when he's drinking that the memories come flooding back.

How he undid Sam's tie when he returned from interrogating a perp, making a stupid joke about how domestic they were becoming and Sam kissing him just to shut him up.

How they used the same tie to bound Dean to the bed when Sam let his controlling side out, how that tie had seen more action then a porn director.

 

The flasks bone dry when Sam yanks his shirt over his head and grabs at Deans, "Feel so good under my hands," He runs his fingers up Dean's chest and artfully tweaks a nipple which has Dean growling under his breath. Sam chuckles quietly and kisses him, the kiss is bruising, Sam bites at Dean's lips until he's pliant under his touches which grow frantic.

Frantic is the only way to describe the needy noises, hand skating over Dean's chest never stopping long enough because he's so desperate to touch every inch of skin. It's almost like he hasn't just been inside a girl with tits and long hair.

But he needs this and Dean can't say no to him.

Sam's palming Dean's hardening cock through his jeans, nibbling at the sensitive spot behind his ear. Dean tries to hide the groan and fails. He can sense Sam smiling so he places his hand over his brothers and pushes harder, groaning again at the friction.

He told himself this was it, this was going to be the last time it happened because he was hell bent on telling Sam enough was enough. Wanted to yell at Sam for being a selfish bastard but no. The mighty Dean Winchester succumbed to his Sam yet again. 

But was it really his fault when he'd walked in looking like someone's wet dream. When his hair was sticking out more then usual and just begging for Dean to replace the dishevelled look with his own.

This can be for Dean too. He can tell Sam how much he hates him after, that the perfume on his skin makes him sick and so does the blissed out look on his face.

But now he bites at Sam's collarbone, each groan spurring him on to bite harder and leave hickies along his chest. This way, the next slut that Sam lays his hand on will know who he belongs to.

Finally Sam unzips his jeans and pulls them down hard, making Dean hiss at the sudden freedom as he stands in only boxers. "So pretty," Sam licks his lips and places his giant hands on Dean's ass, grinding his crotch against Dean's and they both moan at the welcomed contact.

They're standing in the middle of the motel room clad in boxer briefs rutting against each other with the lights off (Sam didn't question why Dean was drinking in the dark), Dean's pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol and more then a little tipsy, clumsily feeling Sam up, and it should be awkward but it's not because they've done it a thousand times.

"Gonna fuck you so hard baby, you'll feel me for days," Sam nips at his neck and his shoulder and Dean arches into his mouth, grinds his hips harder against Sam while maintaining a shitty balance on unsteady footing, but Sam's got him tight in a freakish death grip so the only control he needs to worry about is his brothers.

Dean chuckles, works under Sam's boxers with one hand while the other tugs at his hair and says "Always feel you for days, fuckin sasquatch," and strokes slowly down Sam's cock.

"Cocky fucker" he manages as a gasp because Dean's hand moves faster, pumping his shaft in a way that he's not going to last long.

Sam turns the both of them single handed and pushes Dean back so he falls onto the bed.

He's gorgeous from this angle, mouth parted and gasping for air, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide. There's a tent in his boxers and precum is leaking making the fabric wet.

He takes a lasting look at the want, need "So goddamn pretty," Sam murmurs again and crawls up the bed so his face hovers over Deans. Dean bucks up under him to try to get some friction but Sam growls, holds his hips to the bed and yanks his boxers off, throwing them into the black abyss.

He preps him quickly, getting to three fingers before he grows impatient and pushes in. There's barely a second's pause before he's moving, thrusting his hips trying to go deeper. Dean's mildly uncomfortable but he ignores the sting and kisses Sam. While his hips are moving at a rapid pace he pulls on Dean's neck so his head falls back and pushes his tongue as far down his mouth as he can.

Dean's holding onto Sam's ass, trying to push him deeper while sliding his tongue against Sam's, a slick slide of tongues that goes straight to his cock. "Fuck," Dean groans into his mouth and desperately starts jerking himself off.

Sam's gasping for air, he pushes Dean's thigh up slightly to get a better angle and pounds faster, snapping his hips at a rough pace. 

Suddenly he's hitting that sweet spot over and over and Dean bends his chest into Sam's, neck exposed and inviting. Sam bites hard onto the bared skin and his grip on Dean's thigh tightens. This is one of those high altitude fucks that leaves behind bruises and finger marks that won't go away for days.

Dean's fingers scratch at Sam's back, trying to get a grip, while the other leaves his cock for Sam's ass.

Sam takes his lips from Dean's neck and hovers over Dean's mouth, breathing heavily as sweat beads at his hairline. "Come for me baby, fuck, wanna see your face, wanna watch you come undone because of me" Sam pants, hand going to Dean's cock and jerks up once, twice, rhythm of his hips faltering as he tries to give Dean his orgasm.

Dean grips onto Sam's neck and kisses him passionately, bites his bottom lip once and then it hits, Dean slams his head into the pillow and comes harder then he has in weeks.

Sam follows, feeling Dean's ass clench around his cock sends him over the edge and he collapses, head resting against Dean's shoulder. His cock stops pulsing so he pulls out slowly, enjoying the hiss from Dean.

"Jesus Christ Sam," He bitches and pushes Sam to the other side of the bed where it's not wet with come. 

There's an ache in his ass, wet from Sam's cum. He shifts uncomfortably and one hand goes under the pillow, reaching for the knife to be sure it's still there. 

Probably wasn't the best idea to leave it there while they fucked but sometimes they're into blood play and also Dean isn't thinking properly. Endorphin's fucking with his head, looking at Sam with complete love and trust.

Sam laughs, "Sore?"

Dean smirks, shakes his head at his brother and closes his eyes. He's barely aware of Sam pulling the blankets up over them before he's fast asleep, mouth still turned up at the corners.

It' still dark when he wakes up. Opens his eyes and Sam, mouth open as he breathes deeply into his pillow. A second later and he startles awake, eye opening and meeting Dean's. 

They hold the eye contact until the rush of everything that happened last night hits Dean full force and he has to look away. He can't leave Sam after that. It wasn't just a good fuck, it was them at their core, there isn't a Dean if there isn't a Sam and vice versa.

That concept goes to shit when Dean catches the end of his conversation on the phone, "Be there as soon as I can," And there's that familiar sick to his stomach feeling.

He'd left the room to get a tootsie roll from the vending machine a few rooms down. He'd been waiting for the packet to fall when faintly he heard Sam talking and all thought of his food fell away as he bowed his head and followed the sound of his voice.

And he's here, resting against the wooden panelling when Sam comes barrelling around the corner, phone being flipped in his hand.

"What are you doing?" Dean asks when Sam stops in shock and registers Dean's standing right in front of him.

"Something came up," Sam stutters and tries to side step his brother. Dean blocks him by stepping to the right and his hand comes out to the left, rests on the wall and he looks coldly at Sam. 

"What?"

Sam uncomfortably twitches his eyes and plays with the phone in his hand. How this boy manages to lie for a living is a mystery.

"Just something," He shrugs his shoulders and instead of trying to get around Dean a second time he turns and heads off into the distance so Dean's left seething, staring at his back.

Dean doesn't look up from the pages of another dusty book the next morning, "There a woman you haven't mentioned?"

"What." 

"Well I'm saying you weren't there when I went to bed last night; you're running off on your own these past couple a weeks."

"I do that" Sam shrugs, places a paper bag on the table that smells of greasy breakfast goods and two coffees.

Dean meets his eyes and says, "You actually don't," cuttingly.

Sam shrugs again, Dean fucking hates it. Hates that he's not even worth a fake explanation.

He hears the shower start up and stares holes through the breakfast Sam bought as reparations. He's looking at it like it's the big bad causing his heartache. No, fuck that, he's not heartbroken. He can't admit how much it hurts, he doesn't care. Not really.

If he repeats it enough it becomes reality right? Same as recovery when the person's told to repeat they can do it and then one day they can.

Magic.

For a brief second Dean wonders if magic would solve this puzzle. Like ironing, just smooth all the wrinkles out the fabric of their relationship.

Then he kicks himself for being so stupid. Magic doesn't work like it says on the tin and he doesn't care.

A vibration snaps him out of that train of thought, it's shaking the small table Dean's resting on.

Sam's phone.

Doesn't take him more then a millisecond to answer it, pressing the cold screen to his cheek.

"Hello?"

Female, young. She sounds pretty, it's enough to make Dean shudder.

"Sam? Sam?"

He can't stand it, ends the call and sits there with his knuckles whiting from the tension of his clenched fist. He brings it to his jaw and bites into the finger above his thumb, eyes searching the ground below in thought.

It starts buzzing again as Sam turns the shower off. The door opens, Sam's towel is tight around his hips, water beading on the crevices of his chest and neck. He smiles, it looks foreign on his face. 

The person in front of Dean is unrecognisable. Almost like when he lost his soul and there was something off about him. Except this time his happiness is off-putting, like he shouldn't be feeling good at all, whereas last time it was just wrong.

"You uh, you forgot your cell phone," Dean hands it to Sam and sits back in his chair, unable to tear his eyes away when Sam answers with a "Yeah."

He gives Dean the universal gesture for one second and he's out of the room.

In the meantime Dean rests his elbows on his knees and palms away the tears when they fall.

When he didn't know who Sam was with it was okay. Well, maybe not okay, but tolerable. Now he's heard her voice, now he knows she's real and solid and this is actually happening to him, wow, Dean can't stop himself from crying.

Different from hell and losing Sam and trying to resurrect him because he's lost Sam when he should have him. They've been through so fucking much and Sam clearly doesn't give a fuck. 

He does care, he cared since the first night he'd stumbled in drunk and marked with lipstick and perfume. He cared every time Sam said he had a thing or somewhere to be, cared because he used those exact same excuses on Sam when they were teenagers and Dean had a date.

No matter how many times he tries to ignore it the words are clear in his mind that Sam does not love him.

Sam rolls his eyes and huffs, throws the phone on the bed.

"Let me guess, you need to leave?"

Speaks before Sam can reply "Gonna come back in a few hours, smelling of girls and sex?" 

"What?" Sam starts to shake his head and Dean's up off the bed in a shot.

"Don't you fucking lie to me. I can't take your shit anymore, tell me the truth" Sam frowns "Tell me you've been sleeping with other people,"

"No, Dean, look-"

Dean grips his shoulders and slams him against the wall, getting close. "Don't lie."

Sam licks his lips and it's distracting, he's becoming more aware that Sam's still in the towel. That he went outside with nothing on but that towel.

"What do you want me to say," Sam gives him that look, that fucking pitying look that he uses on nerd that didn't mean to conjure spirits and monsters right before they get their ass handed to them.

"That I'm right. That you've been sneaking off seeing girls for months without giving a shit about what that would do to me."

"Dean, I..." Sam flinches when Dean pushes against him harder, getting up in his face.

"It's not like we said we were exclusive," Sam laughs without humour and it's wrong because sarcasm and joking and being an ass are Dean's traits. His reflexes to being yelled at or asked about important stuff. Him, it's all him.  
Dean pulls him off the wall to jerk his arm back and hit Sam square on the jaw. Sam stumbles back and touches his face, hand pulling away blood that he frowns at, open mouth, staring at Dean.

"That was long overdue."

"It was. I'm an asshole, I know I am. I just-we-you mean so much to me. It doesn't make sense, I know it doesn't. Fuck Dean, it's killing me."

"No, I'm about to kill you," Dean breathes and calls it a silent victory when Sam backs away by a step.

"They didn't mean anything. You have to know that. I just needed to know that I wasn't crazy, that what we have isn't so fucked up and somehow I found that in other people's beds. Wait-" Sam holds up a hand in surrender when Dean starts for him again. 

"I love you so fucking much I don't know how to deal with it. It was never this way with Jess, never felt so right. You can't tell me you didn't think it was weird to begin with, that we, in our situation, started having sex," Sam winces on the last word.

"You mean because we're brothers or because our mom died and dad raised us like psychopaths," Blunt. So straight-to-the-point and sarcastic but part of him is starting to calm down just by hearing Sam's flawed explanation.

"Both I guess. Mainly the first. The incest. But I don't want to lose you over this, I don't want this to be the reason we're apart. I'm fucking stupid, I know that. Please Dean, I love you." 

Sam's wrecked, his eyes are watery messes that threaten to spill down his cheeks. His head's crooked to the side and he's pleading, Dean knows he must mean what he's saying but he's still angry, face tight with it.

"I'm sorry," He says, stepping forward and reaching for Dean with his eyes. There's a moment of silence as Dean looks for any hint of lying, sees nothing but truth and an apology.

He can't stay angry at Sam, he's broken and Dean has to fix him. 

Dean nods, Sam reaches for his brother and inflicts a life threatening kiss that says I thought I'd lost you and I'm sorry and please don't leave me.

It starts off fast, rough kissing and painful touches that leave them naked and panting. But this time Dean enters Sam and he has to tell himself to slow down because this is so much more important then all the other times. Sam is sorry and it's over.

It has to be.

Sam buries his head in Dean's neck and holds onto him like he's afraid of breaking. Dean murmurs how he loves him and everything's going to be okay. It should be the other way around, Sam should be saying how special they are and it's only going to get better.

But he can't manage it and Dean doesn't expect him to.

Sam gives him an article to read on the laptop when Dean steps out the shower, smelling fresh like no name motel soap.

"Three men inexplicably beat their wives to death latest with a meat tenderiser," Dean quirks his mouth, "Iowa, should get there by sundown."

"Checked for signs of demonic possession with Bobby and he thinks the best bet is to check blood samples taken with the autopsy."

"Sounds like a plan," They hit the road, scenery changing as the road blends into miles of green pastures with minimal turns. They get closer to Iowa, Sam mentally crosses off the small town on the map as another destination on their road trip.

If he met anyone from Stanford would he still call it that? He'll probably never be lucky enough to find out.  
"Am I awesome or am I awesome," Dean grins as he shoots past the welcome sign, sun not yet past the horizon.

"Michael Schumacher's incarnate," Sam replies dryly, checking the time. Usually FBI visits are a morning protocol but there's time to visit the perp's house and get information.

"Visit Adam?" Sam suggests, the last guy to murder his wife. And not mean to.

"Sure."

It doesn't take long, he's remorseful of his actions and they come to the conclusion that demonic possession is looking more likely.  
The next day they visit Doctor Roberts for the aforementioned blood samples.  
Dean's flirty even on a bad day so it's no surprise that he's winking and laughing with the good doctor. But she's staring Sam in the eye when she talks through the report. And when Dean's not looking they share a look that's no business and all play.

In short, the samples won't be ready until later that day. Sam hands her a fake business card with his very real number on it and tells her to 'call me when it's ready'.

She promises she will and this time Dean does notice the look that passes between them and the subtle change of mood. But Sam wouldn't dare do that to him, not after the last time. So he fights off every thought that involves her seductive smile and the look he gives her from under his floppy hair.

The phone rings as Dean's trying to find a clean shirt after a shower. It's around 9pm and the naked light bulb is the only source of light in the room. Although it has happened, the offices usually call it a day before 8pm and the promise of later turns into tomorrow.

Apparently not this time.

"I'm on my way," Sam hangs up, "I'll be half an hour tops,"  
"Wait five and I'll come with you."

Sam winds his fingers in Dean's towel-dried hair and presses a chaste kiss to Dean's lips. "No need. Not gonna be long, not with you looking this pretty" Dean groans softly under his mouth.

Sam chuckles and releases his grip on Dean's hair, "Call me if you find anything," Dean says.

"Course."

Sam kisses him again, leaving a smiling Dean. It's a small town and the motel's pretty central so he only has to walk a few short blocks to his destination, the journey branded into his memory from earlier in the day. 

There's no guilt in any corner of his mind, no remorse for what he's done. Everything he said the other night was true, the words ringing in his ears as time counts down the minutes until he does it again. It was the painful truth but it wasn't everything.

Some people would call it an addiction. Once you start cheating it's hard to stop, always looking for the next partner like a drug addict looks for their next fix.

Sam thinks of it like a habit, one he needs to kick but not something he ever meant to pick up. More like it just happened one night and then the chase of sex became enthralling, more so then the chase of a hunt.

He has to flash his badge at the security guard who questions why he's here so late but a few choice words get him into the doctors office.

She has a bottle in front of her and two beakers and he smirks. Sometimes these situations just happen, he doesn't plan to deceive Dean. It's without thought or intention, without malice or hatred.

 _Sometimes_ he just walks into a room at night and a pretty girl offers herself to him and he can't say no.

 

Dean's grey t-shirt is stretched tight across his shoulders as he finishes a set of sit ups. Nothing says boredom like exercise. He stops before he gets too sweaty so he doesn't have to revisit the shower.

It's been thirty five minutes and even on foot Sam shouldn't have taken that long.

His phone goes straight to voicemail and he has to tell himself not to panic as he leaves a message that's the usual 'where the hell are you, you'd better not be dead you selfish asshole, hurry up'

The next five minutes pass agonisingly slowly. With no reply from Sam, Dean leaves the building and gets behind the wheel just in case Sam's missing and he needs to drive miles.

He calls another time on the way over and curses himself for not making Sam wait for him.

Best case scenario he's chasing a demon right now and can't pick up the phone. Worst case is death. Always.

But when he sees Sam advancing towards the doctor through the office window he has to reassess that logic. She's curling her hand around his tie and he wants Sam to bat her hand away, tell her that's enough, he's taken.

But he licks his bottom lip which Dean knows will lead to a kiss. He's too shocked to do anything but sit frozen in the Impala and watch as Sam kisses her. She throws his tie down on the table, starts undoing the buttons on his shirt and introduces tongue, making the kiss more intense.

Sam pulls back to laugh, he starts mouthing at her neck and she moans, presses closer to his crotch.

Dean doesn't need to see anymore.

Pure unadulterated rage pumps through his veins, sending his hands into clenched fists around the wheel and his mouth into a terrifying snarl.

So fucking stupid to think Sam meant it, that it was over.

It's a miracle he doesn't crash, foot down and driving recklessly. 

He knows exactly what he needs to do now. Pack and leave. Show Sam he's not a coward, he's not weak.

"Fuck!" Dean slams the brakes on at a red light and hits the steering wheel with his palm.

All he can think about it her lips on his, how Sam initiated the kiss despite the promise he made.

He's in and out of the room within two minutes. Pretty much everything was packed, Dean had wanted to get on the road the next morning. He gives one last look at the room, the queen sized bed in the middle now a hollow memory to when Sam told him he'd be back so they could fuck on it.

He hopes Sam suffers.

He doesn't.

Dean wants him to feel as much pain as he does but he wouldn't wish that on anyone.

He slams the door closed, bag slung over his shoulder as he walks to the trunk.

By his timing Sam's probably having sex with her right now and she's clinging to him as he pounds into her. It makes him feel sick, that he can so easily go back on his word.

Driving calms Dean down. He crosses the state line, the night stretching out in front of him. It's funny how all the roads merge into one and it was never about the journey but the person sat next to him.

His phone rings from the passenger seat and he picks it up without checking the user I.D.

"Where the hell have you been," It's been over an hour since he left the town, almost two since Sam left the room.

"With Kara," Said like there's not a million things wrong with that.

"Oh its Kara now. And you're not picking up your phone."

"We were trying to find the blood sample, someone stole it."

Dean scoffs "Yeah I'll bet."

"What's that supposed to mean," It's not hate, it's love. Dean fucking loves how stupid Sam is. How he can't do anything right. That it's not Dean's fault, it's his.

The roads eternal. Dean clenches his jaw, forces himself to ask "Did you sleep with her?" 

Sam's silent. Dean's smiling painfully, not so fucking smart after all even after Stanford and straight A's in high school. No, not smart at all.

Silence and then, "No." 

"Unbelievable man I just don't get it," _How I can give you everything and it's not enough._

"Tell me where you are I'll, I'll come meet you and we'll figure things out."

"No."

Speaking over the phone is making this easier somehow. He doesn't have to face Sam's desperation or those puppy eyes that send him to his knees.

"Are you serious?" Sam does nothing to hide his disbelief, like he hadn't thought Dean was capable. If anything it serves as a reminder that he needs to do this.

Needs to save himself. Needs to think of himself for once.

"I wish I weren't. I gotta handle this Sam. By myself." The phone takes Sam's place, shotgun, again and Dean delves deeper into the night.

Even miles apart he's placing bets on when they'll be together again.


	2. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't a firm believer in joint suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so here's the explanation for why it's 8 months late... I fell out of love with the show before Christmas and I kept bringing myself to finish this without really knowing how to. I struggled to write a proper sequel to the first part, even with the video as an aid I found it difficult to find the right words and the fact that I wasn't invested in the characters anymore made it twice as difficult. BUT something changed and my love has been restored which means you get a part two. Which hopefully does the story justice.
> 
>  
> 
> Link to the sequel video that I highly recommend watching-  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKr9twjrWso

It's a dull weight in his hand. Sam scrolls down the long list of contacts until the blue bar stops on his name. 

_Dean_

It's been months since their separation and he always ends up in this place. Thumb hovering over _call_ , brows tight. For a minute he lets himself think about what happened, after the first few weeks he hadn't let himself feel it but now he does. Normally he's empty, devoid of emotion. But this ignites a flash of pain in his gut. 

_Her spit lingering on his lips after he leaves the office, hands readjusting the tie around his neck so when he gets back to the room Dean won't be able to tell what he's done. Feeling the smallest bit of regret that he hadn't felt before, but shrugging it off. Dean doesn't know what he's been doing, they'll leave town soon._

_Unlocking the door and walking into an empty room, Dean's bags gone. Calling his number, "I gotta handle this Sam, by myself."_

No. Those thoughts return to the vault he'd locked them in when he vowed to try to let his brother go. 

Before he can talk himself out of it he presses call and waits. Sits there until the dial stops and he's told that it's a disconnected number. Disconnected either because it's been too long with one number, or because of him. Sam knows it's the second option.

_"Did you sleep with her?"_

_Silence. He can't tell Dean the truth, he needs him. "No."_

_"Unbelievable man, I just don't get it."_

He was always able to see through Sam's empty lies. Sam thinks about throwing the phone across the room to get the anger out of him but he can't do it. Just in case Dean calls him, he can't get a new number, just in case.

He's never going to call him, not after what Sam did.

 

After the first week Sam called him drunk off his face, sobbing down the phone and begging Dean to forgive him. Dean hadn't said a word, hadn't spoken just heard him out. When Dean finally hung up Sam thought that was it. But he sent him coordinates and before the sun rose he was standing talking to Dean in a shaded parking garage trying to conceal his scratchy eyes and dry mouth.

Sam took it all in. Saw all the changes in Dean like his hunched posture and the dull weight behind his eyes. He stood there waiting for his brother to talk because he knew whatever he said would come out garbled and useless. 

"I tried Sammy. I tried. But I can’t keep pretending that everything is alright," Dean's voice is breaking and it's breaking Sam.

"I will do anything. Anything, to take it all back," Sam wants to step forward. He wants to climb into Dean's arms and beg him for a second chance. Third chance, fourth, millionth for all the times he's hurt his brother and not even realized.

"I know you would."

"Dean," Sam can't trust himself to speak. They drove all this way and he's getting the chance he wanted and he can't fucking speak.

"Give it time. I need to do my own thing for a while."

Sam had watched, frozen to the spot, as Dean drove away in the car they used to call home.

 

Hearing that disconnected tone is a finality that ruins him, it's a realization that this is it. The next few days are hell. He can't eat without his stomach rejecting the food and he can't focus on anything. Reading blurs his eyesight so all the words merge into one confusing mess of letters and punctuation marks.

There is no possibility of hunting, not right now. Maybe not ever if he can't be with Dean. 

Sam keeps waking up after volatile nightmares, soaked in sweat and panting. When he stumbles to the mirror at 3am his reflection is gaunt, eyes a smudgy red and hair matted to his forehead. It's enough to make him hurl into the toilet bowl.

Looking back he can't remember ever having it worse.

They aren't like normal relationships, they can't just call it quits and move on to someone better. Sam left better back with his morals and loyalty. 

One night he tries to go for a walk to clear his head. He almost passes out in the hallway just trying to leave the hotel block but he steadies himself against the wall, counts to ten and keeps going.

Trying to make it outside becomes a quest for redemption. If he can push open that door he can push through his infidelities and guilt.

But when he makes it outside the fresh air has him gasping in pain. More memories come pouring in like hazy flickers from dreams and the repressed memories send him to the floor. All these external forces are doing this to him. He isn't in control; they are controlling him. 

He calls Bobby. The next day he gets in the shower, shaves, and calls Bobby.

He knows Bobby won't want to talk to him, hasn't wanted to since he put two and two together and realized the boys were fucking.

Sweet, sweet memories.

So Sam knows it's a long shot but he calls him anyway.

"What," Bobby answers. He forces himself to smile. People can hear your smile on the phone if you do it right and he needs all the help he can get.

"Jesus Bobby, I remember you friendlier," Sam chuckles nervously and presses the receiver closer to his ear.

"Ain't no Jesus here," He replies. Sam really wishes things had gone better with Bobby.

"You don't owe me anything, but, I wanted to know if you had Dean's number. His new one," He hopes Bobby doesn't ask why he wants to know. Bobby, the King of discretion.

"You're damn right, I don't owe you shit. Hold on." From the other side of the phone he hears him sift through paper.

"Got it," He recites the numbers to Sam who thanks him and hangs up.

Easiest part over, he tells himself.

This time when he calls Dean he doesn’t get an automated voice telling him to fuck off. It's a while, a long while, but the phone clicks and 

"Yeah?"

Silence.

"Hello?"

Sam can see Dean getting frustrated and biting the inside of his mouth.

"I miss you. _So much_."

He hears Dean's hitched breath.

Nothing hurts more then the beep to signify call over.

Sam stares at the wall and tries to think of what to do next. When he can't bear to sit alone with his thoughts he goes to the bar down the road and orders the strongest thing they have. He can barely taste it so he leaves without paying and sits back alone in his room.

There is nothing more painful then this. Sam would take death any day of the week over this. 

The women, that side of him can't be rationalized, he knows that.

But the ripping, tearing pain in his soul that tastes like tears and snot, that is not worth the sex. He would stay celibate if it meant he never had to leave his brothers side.

Without Dean he is an empty shell of a human being. He needs Dean like air, remove air you suffocate, and without Dean he suffocates.

///

Dean has to end the call, he can't listen to his brothers broken voice. He did that.

His eyes focus on a patch of carpet on the floor to ground him, his eyes filling up with tears. It's been long enough, hasn't it? Was this meant to be temporary or forever?

Since he left Sam in that motel room he's been throwing himself into cases. Usually driving miles just to get farther away from his brother for the most mundane hunts.

And yeah, it's not healthy or natural like it was suppose to be. But he can't allow himself to break every time he thinks of Sam.

His Sam.

Dean palms the phone and considers his options. Fuck it, they don't need to be separated permanently.

If he takes Sam… he isn't ready for that. Maybe they do need to be separated permanently. Maybe he needs a reason, a fucking romantic _sign_ that if they get back together it's because of fate and destiny and true love and all that bullshit. 

Right now, the only thing in his fate is hunting. 

Without Sam.

///

Sam sits in the bar and orders another whisky, straight. It's Dean's drink. He finds comfort in each burning sip, khaki jacket hunched over the bar protecting the alcohol. 

Despite how busy it is, Sam doesn’t pay attention to the other customers. He's in his own world of hurling pain and torment, each drink chasing down a memory of Dean while bringing up another. A vicious cycle of poison.

He doesn't notice the dark haired woman wearing a fitted dress, who leans against the bar like they’re in a strip club and she works there.

"Hey handsome," She drawls. Cheesy line or not, Sam would normally have her in the bathroom with her underwear around her ankles before they even exchanged names.

_Pressed against the tiles her ass bucks against his crotch, whimpering oh so prettily. He loves this part. Wants to make her beg, thrust against him and tell him how much she wants it._

_Normally he'd wait until she was crying with want, but Dean is in the other room and needs to be quick. He pushes the hem of her dress up and smirks at the lack of underwear. Dirty whore. He slaps her ass once and she moans loudly, a real pornstar moan, the kind that makes Sam strain against his jean zipper._

_He picks up four beers from the bar on his way back to the table, handing them to Dean and choosing not to see the pained look in his eyes._

How had he been so oblivious? Every single time Dean had known. Of course he had, he could read him better then those stupid vintage Asian porn magazines he kept picking up.

He ignores the girl who is silently getting closer, downs his drink and heads back to the motel.

The alcohol hits him as he walks down the hallway, his vision stuttering. An old film reel flickering to an end, hazily jumping as it builds up to black.

Sweat pastes his hair to his forehead, and he stumbles past each room not recognizing any as his. The last one, last at the end.

Key through the lock, the lock swirling making five separate ones and testing them all until the door opens and at last he can fall against the bed. Soft, it centres him for a moment. Before he surrenders his consciousness a eureka moment strikes.

_We can't give up on Dean. Fight…_

 

He's too old. Sam remembers going to parties at Stanford, remembers waking up the next morning to a dry mouth and an empty stomach. He never got hangovers until he hit 24. If he hit 25 he'd be surprised, at the amount of alcohol Dean bought him.

He used to make jokes that Dean wanted to take advantage. Dean would say that it's not worth the bitching in the morning for a cheap pass.

The pounding hammers into his skull so much it feels like it's expanding and pressing against the thin flesh that protects it.

Sam lurches off the bed towards the grimy bathroom, craving cold water. It hurts. It hurts, but not enough to stop the thought of Dean forcing its way into the forefront of his vision. Imposter.

If Dean was here he would tell him to stop being a pussy, that he's older and never bitches about hangovers. He'd pull his shirt along to a diner where they'd eat greasy food and drink black coffee and Dean would kick his leg under the table, laughing at every wince Sam made.

But Dean isn't here.

And Sam needs to change that.

 

"Bobby?" His voice cracks on the second b and he curses his old body. His hangover can take the backseat, Dean is more important.

"East 6th Street, North Little Rock," it cuts off, a loud thwack on the other end.

Sam starts the car and tears off into the road. Thank God Bobby isn't a talker

The neon lit clock tells him he slept for 3 hours. He's run on less, much less, then that. Dean's name repeats like a mantra inside of his soul, getting louder the more streets he rips down. He glances in the wing mirror, recoils when he sees three scratches down his cheek. Oblivious to everything to Dean, Sam ignores it. _Let it get infected, let me rot on the outside instead of only within._

The sun rises, he's losing time. It's midday when he gets to Arkansas. He hasn't eaten all morning but that's not important. It would be selfish to eat now. 

An uprising of anxiety; the hotel comes in view.

He can do this. Dean will see him and realize that he's dying, he'll realize that they can't be apart.

 

///

 

Dean's face collapses when he opens the door to Sam. Fuck that, his entire being collapses, any thread of sanity and self control he had flies away when he sees Sam.

His beautiful boy has disappeared. He's a skeleton with pale dying skin acting as his only shield.

Dean didn't think it was possible to feel any worse but a torrent of guilt hits him. His Sammy. Broken. Because of his selfish need to be alone.

It takes him a couple of tries to get his voice working properly, "You look like hell Sammy," he finally manages, forcing a weak smile. It feels wrong on his face, contorted and painful.

"Dean…" Sam breathes, sleep-rough, taking a step in his direction, hand rising hesitantly to his brothers face. Dean lets him, leans into the contact when his hand brushes his cheek.

Sam bends, as if he's about to kiss him. He wants that so much, he really does, but he can't.

Dean swallows past the ache in his throat, defeat and guilt knotted up tight together "Not yet," Dean murmurs and steps aside to let him in.

After so long it's somehow worse to be with him again. At the same time there's hope, Sam looks destroyed and Dean knows it's because he regrets everything.

"Shower," Dean maneuvers his brother towards the small cubicle, noting that his movements are slow because he hasn't slept. He looks like he hasn't slept for days, weeks, months. Insomnia.

When Sam starts stripping off in front of him he leaves the room, choosing to sit by the generically small table and wait. His mind is blank. He has no clear plan, no real solution. The only thing he knows is he can't leave Sammy like this. 

The case he was on is closed, they can lay low for a while. Dean has never been good at this, at _being_ without working. But this is for Sam. They can go to the grand canyon, to route 66, all the road trip destinations they should have seen when Stanford became a memory and not a dream. 

Water stops running in the shower and the door opens, towel slung low on Sam's hips. He looks ten times better. He looks irresistible. 

And in that moment Dean says fuck it to a road trip, they need a case. Because if they aren't working any sliver of self restraint he possesses disappears along with that fucking towel. 

Dean presses the heel of his palm down on his crotch to tell it to go the fuck down and forces his eyes off the bare chest 12 feet away from him. 

"You need to sleep."

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Sam asks weakly.

Dean, still not looking at him, nods and says "Can't leave you now," And it's an ultimatum. Not now not ever. I'm so fucking sorry Sammy, I'm so sorry. Dean wonders when he gave up his backbone. Did he ever have one when Sam was involved.

He falls asleep in minutes, curled up on Dean's bed with wet hair and a fresh face.

"Pull yourself together," Dean chastises himself. He'll look for a case, Sam will get better, it will all work out. Simple.

 

//// 

 

"You sure about this?"

Dean nods. He pulls his shirt off roughly, exposing his chest and Sam smiles. He's so pretty.

He crosses the room in three quick strides, lips clashing against Dean's with heated passion. His pants feel tight all of a sudden, the anticipation causing him to strain against his jean zipper.

Fuck he wants this. The first time; it will be special.

But as Dean sprawls across the bed, legs cocked up, Sam knows this won't be slow and precious. Neither of them have the will power to be anything but desperate.

In the silence afterwards Sam listens to Dean's heartbeat. It reminds him of an old novel he read in High School. Listen to the heartbeat, _I am, I am, I am_.

Dean's heart slows as his breathing turns even and he's asleep. Sam doesn't feel tired. He doesn't want to skip this moment where everything has slotted into place.

It's been months since Dean took him back. Months since he was able to touch him like this.

Sam lightly runs his fingers across Dean's smooth skin, noting the difference in each curve of muscle in the time they'd been apart. 

He vows to never let that happen again.

 

///

 

They're in the kitchen of a rented apartment; the hunt involves a large nest of fuckery so they wanted to be domestic while they took their time with the case.

If being domestic means having an argument at three in the morning over the kitchen counter then call them the Joneses.

"I'm just saying-"

Dean interrupts, "Yeah, I know what you're saying."

Fists hit kitchen surface, eyes pleading. Dean avoids them, doesn't let the hope spread. Another conflict that stems from his insecurity. It's the demon that won't die, every argument he exorcises it but in time it grows back and they _always_ end up here. 

"No, you don't," strengthened by conviction. Sam clenches his hands hard enough to leave crescent moon shapes and he retracts them, walks around the counter closing the space between them.

"You still don't believe me," Not a question, a statement. Dean can't deny what they both know is true.

Sam waits until Dean is looking at him, the old tactic of persuasion they've used so many times. Dean's lifts his heavy eyelids and tries to stop the disbelief from overpowering his capability for logic. Sam clenches his teeth in frustration and Dean's eyes follow the movement.

" _I can't lose you_."

Toy soldiers, Stanford, resurrection, funerals, the open road.  
The constant repetitive argument that never fails to leave a bad taste in his mouth. Every insecurity from the past few years, every time alcohol was justified disease, every time Sam was warm from another body. 

Ignoring everything, repressing it. Pretending the lipstick on his collar was blood and not betrayal, acting ignorant and indifferent because feelings weren't allowed.

Dean's gaze is cold, jaw tight, and his eyes are dull but calm. He is enchantingly still, like the still vastness of space where stars explode and are reborn.

He parts his bitten, worn, lips and asks "Really?" Calm yet destructive. 

"Yeah really," And maybe it's how his hazel eyes are open and honest, or maybe it's because you can have an argument too many times, but this time Dean believes him. 

Dean takes one look at his brother and is reborn. The discoloring that stains his soul is still there, but the bruising on his heart is fading. 

"I will never leave you," Sam whispers softly against his brothers lips, the moisture from his breath heating the air between them. His tongue swipes across Dean's bottom lip and he kisses him tenderly, Dean's heart hammering in his chest.

It feels right. 

"Beer."

A tradition that goes unsaid. Dean captures memories between them by sharing a beer, not taking a photo. Sam watches Dean open the cold ones that he got from the fridge. He opens them with his ring, like always.

Dean hands it to him and presses the cold rim to his lips that were against Sam's a second ago.

They move past the argument by talking about useless crap, like how porn magazines aren't classy anymore and _shit sammy didn't realize you looked at porn.. everyone looks at porn Dean.. you sure acted like a virgin when we fucked.. technically I was.. yeah but a hand virgin, everyone loses their hand virginity at like 12.. fuck off Dean_

It's a perfect moment. The two of them against the world as fate has written it.

Sam watches Dean laugh, the curve of his throat when he throws his head back, body moving with laughter.

And suddenly a glass wall has dropped in front of him. Sam is watching the scene unfold but he can't be in it anymore. Something is different, or maybe it never changed. 

His eyes flick down to the bottle, fingers reaching for it through a thick haze. And the thought drifts into his mind, those three words that he will never be able to escape. _one last time_

Phantom lip blood fills his mouth but he can't swallow it, can't swallow guilt.

Dean doesn't notice.

 

////

 

Sam's heavy footfall announces his presence in the apartment. 

One day and they'll be out of the fucking place. Dean's itching to get back on the road, back to crappy motels with tv channels only playing reruns and broken light switches. He embraces each flaw in a motel room like it's a memento to keep the road trip illusion alive.

Sam dumps a six pack of beer onto the table to replace the one they shared last night. Dean watches his back retreat into the bedroom and hears the shower turn on.

Slowly, like he's in a dream, Dean stands and pushes the door open, walks right up to Sam and embraces him.

The scent of floral perfume is faint under his Old Spice deodorant.

Dean stares at the wall, eyes motionless, unblinking.

When had Sam entered the apartment he saw the bite mark on his neck immediately, and the way he'd styled his hair; too tame to be natural.

Dean quirks his lip and it's subtle, a quiet resolve.

He isn't a firm believer in joint suicide. 

Dean strengthens his hold.


End file.
